the animation.”

I give him an expectant, impatient look that clearly communicates, “Roll it, already, Numb-Nuts.”

“Alrighty, then,” he replies, turning out the lights and hitting the button to start it. We wait through the stuff we’ve already seen, and then it continues with us “looking” up at the glass-and-beam vaulted ceiling.

After that, I don’t pay much attention. I don’t care. I’m just the admin. I know I’m only here because Marvin needed an excuse to look at my boobs. And he’s too lazy to walk past my cubicle, so he decided to have them come to him. I’ll be glad when this is over so I don’t have to talk to him again for a while. Until Sunday, that is.

“Buh-ruther,” I grumble aloud at that mental reminder.

“What?” Jude and Marvin ask at the same time, all eyes on me.

“Nothing,” I answer. “Sorry. It looks fine. I was thinking of something else.”

The two of them return their attention to the monitor. “See, I had the animation ‘walk’ in a circle, cutting through the gardens to get back to the entrance, so we can just loop it and play it behind you while you’re describing your design. That way, there aren’t any awkward jump-cuts or tiresome fades or other transitions that have been way overused.”

Jude nods, his finger curled on his chin. “Nice. Very good,” he says distractedly. I swear he’s looking at me out of the corner of his eye.

“‘Nice?’ ‘Very good?’” Marvin mocks. “I worked my ass off on this all weekend, and that’s what I get? It’s fuckin’ awesome, dude!”

Snapping to attention, Jude says, “Oh. Right. Completely. I agree. I was merely thinking of… what Libby said, er… wrote for me to say… My script! And how it’s going to sound in addition to this.”

He points at the animation and takes a deep breath. The intake of oxygen seems to help him concentrate. He looks straight at Marvin and says, “I doubt people are even going to be listening to me. Which is good! You did a brilliant job. I can’t thank you enough.”

Grudgingly, Marvin says, “Yeah. Well, okay.” Then he adds, “You know, you could show your appreciation by staying home from the baseball game Sunday. Huh-huh.”

Jude levels a steady look that makes Marvin take it back with a “Just kidding, dude.”

But then Jude quickly says, “No, uh… if that’s what you want. I mean, it’s the least I can do.”

“What?” I jump in, panic rising in my chest.

Ignoring me, Jude tells Marvin, “I have loads of other things I should probably be doing then anyway. Maybe I will stay home. Watch the game on the telly instead.”

With that, he thanks Marvin one more time for his help and walks out.

“That was easy,” Marvin says to me. “Looks like it’s going to be just you and me, babe.”

Without replying, I rush from the room, chasing after Jude. I don’t even care how it looks. “Hey, J— you!” I call, stopping myself before I sound like a lame Beatles cover band (again) but not before I sound like I’m broadcasting his religious beliefs. He half-turns but keeps walking. I catch up to him and fall into stride at his side just as we’re passing Leslie’s desk.

“What the hell was that about?” I demand in hushed tones, conscious of her nosy stare.

Without looking at me, he says, “I thought that would be preferable to both you and Marvin.”

“Are you kidding me? What made you think that?”

“You don’t seem to want to have anything to do with me. I’m saving you the discomfort of uninviting me.” We turn together and go into his office.

“I never invited you in the first place,” I point out, then rush on, “But I was glad you invited yourself, because it meant I didn’t have to be alone with Marvin.”

He shuffles some papers on his desk. “Well, invite someone else, then. I’m sure Zoe or Lisa wouldn’t mind being your buffer.” Abruptly, he changes the subject (sort of) but still refuses to look at me. “I thought you weren’t coming to work today.”

I abandon the comeback I was going to give him about his former remark and close my mouth at his latter statement. Finally, I say, “I had to get my car. Thanks for paying your tickets.”

“Not at all,” he replies formally. “Sorry about the mix-up… both of them.” He sits down at his computer and starts clicking his mouse, his eyes on the monitor. “Anything else?”

I can’t believe it! I’m being… dismissed!

“I… I guess not,” I stutter. “Unless you need help with your presentation?”

“Nope. Everything appears to be sweet as a nut, thanks to Marvin.”

His cold tone gives my heart the equivalent of brain freeze. But I lift my chin. “Okay. Good. I’ll just… uh…” I back through the doorway.

“Shut that, please, if you don’t mind,” he requests.

“Sure.” I pull the door closed and go directly to my desk, where I stay the rest of the day without talking to anyone.

12

I sleepwalk through the next few days, suffering from insomnia at night, LFW an annoying haze of TV snow. By the time my session with Dr. Marsh comes around, I’m in an epically foul mood.

As soon as I sit down, he asks, “So? How did the assignment go?”

“Fine,” I answer shortly, handing over my list of compliments.

He takes the paper but doesn’t take his eyes from my face. “You don’t sound or look fine.”

I shrug petulantly.

Letting it go for the moment, he puts on his glasses and peruses the list, laughing out loud at a few of the statements. Finally, he sets it aside, along with his glasses. “Very good. I’m glad you took to heart my encouragement to be creative.”

I say nothing.

“What about the other part?” he prods. “Have you noticed a difference in the way people respond to you when you modify your body language?”

“Yeah, it’s been great. I’ve been hit on by a guy with halitosis, and I have a date this Sunday with another guy who has a garden hose

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